


I Tell You, I'm Your Man

by rotbody



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Masochism, Modern AU, Normie AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sadism, Violence, Well-deserved Rat punching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotbody/pseuds/rotbody
Summary: Love at first sight, or something like that.





	1. I'm Gonna Pull It

There’s nothing Jamison likes more after a long week than to go down to the grimier pubs and try to pick up the meanest looking cunt there. If he’s being honest, it about never works, and he usually gets a good kicking for his efforts. It’s usually just about as fun as taking the bloke to bed, anyway. What he’s _really_ after is the thrill.

It’s not really shaping up to be a great night. He’s gotten cussed out a few times, and pushed out of two different bars. Third bar’s shaping up to be a real treat, he can tell as soon as he walks in and spots the biggest bloke he’s ever seen up at the bar. _Shit._ Jamison’s a tall guy himself, and it’s an event whenever he runs into a guy bigger'n him. Just a mammoth of a bloke. He’s gotta try and get that guy in bed. Or just in the alley, whatever.

“Oi, yer a big cunt, aintcha?” Jamison squawks. He gives the guy a hearty slap on the shoulder with his good hand. Left his nice new prosthetic at home tonight, so he really just has the one hand to work with, anyway.  There’s an audible smack, and the giant turns his head just enough to fix Jamison with a nasty look.

Jamison’s gotta admit, the guy’s not half-bad looking, either. Older bloke, yeah, with some silvery stubble all on his jaw, hair all white too. What Jamison cares more about is the sick-lookin’ scar that runs from the guy’s jaw, across his cheek and up over his nose. Looks right _nasty_ , and that, plus the pissy look that’s being sent his way really gets his engine revving.

Maybe it’s kinda fucked up that this is what gets him going? He’s never really bothered to sit down and really think about it. It’s fun in the moment, that’s all he cares about. Jamison’s not really the kind of guy who thinks too far in the future.

The guy turns, a snarl on his face and it. It’s all a bit fuzzy after that. The hit’s a good, solid one, and Jamison can definitely respect it. Kinda likes that it came without a warning, too, that the guy just went and _hit_ him without bothering to even talk. That kinda thing is what he really likes in guy. Strike first and ask questions later, haha! Yeah, that’s the good stuff- but he sorta loses the plot after that.

He catches the fist to his face, yeah, it hits right ‘bout his left eye, and he just _knows_ that it’s gonna bruise up real good'n ugly, a black eye for a week, at least. Won’t that be a thing to explain to the fellas at work? He wants to laugh, but his vision’s kinda dimming, shit, that guy hit like a truck, and there are people grabbin’ on him as he stumbles, asking if he’s alright. He wants to push them off, but his brain’s a bit rocked and it takes him a minute. He’s pretty sure he sees the big guy gettin’ hustled out of the bar, too, by either bouncers or his mates, Jamison can’t tell.

It’s a damn shame, 'cos he was perfectly ready to chat the big cunt up after he recovered and all. Now all he’s left with is perfect strangers all concerned over the poor cripple getting decked. Like he needs that fucking sympathy, but he can milk it for a free pint or two, after he assures them all he’s not gonna go and keel over. They ain’t gonna let him go and run after the guy who just decked him, so he just decides to make the most of it.

About four pints (and maybe a shot or two) in he decides to ditch the bar and go find another. He’s not getting anything here, besides the drinks, which aren’t too bad. But it’s not gonna get him laid, he’s pretty sure. He’s more than a little drunk, unsteady on his feet, but he’s not ready to call it a night just yet. He’ll go and try his luck once more, see if maybe he can’t get a little more action.

There’s another pub a couple blocks over, looks even grimier than the last one he tried. Promising. Not too busy, either, it’s late now and most of the after-work crowd’s already gone off home. Probably good for his prospects, anyone with a partner woulda gone home already.

He doesn’t see the big guy until he’s right up at the bar, practically at the man’s elbow. Hard to see how he coulda missed him, because the fucker’s massive. Jamison squints at him. Same fella from earlier, maybe, he can’t tell, doesn’t particularly care. Still a huge fucker, and if it’s the same guy, Jamison’s _just_ drunk enough to try his luck all over again.

“Ay! Yer a right cunt, mate, scarperin’ off after deckin’ me like that!” He says it with a laugh, a sharp bark of a sound. Gives the man a nudge with his elbow, like they’re right good chums. Even if this ain’t the same guy as earlier, it’s gotta get his attention. “Didn’t even let me get yer name or nothin’! How’s that fair?”

The guy turns, looks at Jamison like he’s just a piece of shit he stepped in. “Piss off,” he mutters, his voice a low rumble that goes _right_ to Jamison’s dick. Fuck, he really doesn’t need a stiffy while he’s tryin’ to pick the man up. That’s just goddamn embarrassing.

 _Little self control, Ratty_ , he thinks to himself for probably the first time in his life. Then just elbows the guy in the side with his stumpy arm. Fuck it, right? “C'mon, lemme buy ya a pint at least? Gitcher number?”

There’s a grunt, and the man slowly rises to his feet. Slowly, Jamison figures, 'cos a guy that size has gotta take a long time to move anywhere. He’s gotta be more'n seven feet tall, _goddamn_ , he’s never seen anyone that tall, that wide before. He definitely ain’t letting this bloke slip through his dirty fingers, and he’s just opening his mouth again when the vast man moves. Jamison sees that huge meaty fist coming towards his face, too fast, too sudden for him to do anything about it.

He hears the crunch of cartilage and tastes blood before he even feels the pain. Feels that he’s going down, the punch unsteadied him enough and he can’t catch himself on his stupid fucking fake leg in time. So he goes down hard, bony ass meeting the floor just as his face starts to _really_ hurt. He’s just stunned for a moment, staring up at the guy with big saucer eyes.

The guy’s looking down at him, just the _meanest_ snarl Jamison’s ever seen on a person, standing like he’s ready to give him a good kicking. And maybe it’s just the adrenaline and the throbbing pain in his face, but his insides’re all fluttery and he’s feeling a little breathless. Shit, he’s in love, he’s gotta be, or maybe he’s just getting too high offa the rush. Either way.

“Ya doin’ anything later?” He asks, ignoring how muffled and thick his voice sounds, how weird it is to talk past a bloodied nose. Probably broken, too. Obviously, the huge fucker’s not expecting the question, Jamison can see the surprise flash across his face. Gone in an instant, though, then that scowl’s back and he’s turning away without saying anything. Heading right to the door, just like last time.

Ah, fuck, he can’t let the guy slip away this time. It’s hard to get up off the ground, but Jamison’s pretty practiced in the art of getting his dumb ass offa floors. Unlike the other bar, the patrons of this one aren’t too keen on givin’ him a hand, which, that’s fair. He came right in and made a tit of himself, and no one wants to get involved with that. He manages to get his bum leg under him, the hardest part when he’s only got a few working limbs. Once he’s got that down, he can grab the edge of the bar and haul himself up without too much of a fuss.

Guy’s halfway down the street before Jamison can make it out the door. Just walking and not heading for a car or anything, which says something for his chances on catching up. He’s hobbling fast as he can, but the giant fuckin’ yobbo moves real fast for a big guy.

“Ah, ferchrissakes- hold up, willya!” He yells. Of course the fella’s gonna ignore him completely, he’s been doing that the whole time, y'know, apart from when he busted Jamison’s face open. He really doesn’t expect to see him just…standing there the next time he looks up. Standing right there on the sidewalk, watching Jamison’s every move. He even waits until Jamison’s right in front of him, not moving an inch.

“What.” The question’s flat, hardly even a question, is it, more like a demand. All in that gruff and rumbly voice, too. Jamison has to stifle a giggle. Not that it’s _funny_ , no, he’s excited, downright thrilled that this burly motherfucker’s taking another second on him. Maybe he’s just waiting to beat the snot out of this annoying ratbag following him, Jamison doesn’t really care.

He fishes his celly out of his pocket, nearly fumbling and dropping the damn thing in his haste. Giant bloke’s not running off right away, but Jamison’s not wasting time. “Deck the poor ol’ crippo and just run out on him, eh?” He can’t help the giggle that time, a brief and hysterical little laugh. “Was tryin’ to get your number, mate!”

The bloke’s just staring. Got his big arms crossed over on top of his gut, so Jamison’s pretty sure he’s not about to get another beatdown. “You’re trying to pick me up,” he states, still all gruff, maybe a little surprised, Jamison can’t tell, his expressions are a bit hard to read. “I broke your nose.”

This time, Jamison definitely can’t stifle his laugh. He snorts out an ugly chuckle, ducking his head to both disguise his amusement and to start punching in a new contact. He’s getting this giant motherfucker’s number, whatever he’s gotta do. Beg, even, he ain’t above that. “Broke it fer sure, huh?” He asks, completely unable to stop the quiet yet high-pitched giggles that slip outta his mouth. “ 'snot like I mind, y'know, calculated risk, whatever.”

He risks a peek up at the bloke, just to see his expression, maybe gauge his reaction, but that’s been tough going so far. Jamison just can’t rightly figure out this guy, seems like he’s just too guarded for the average Tom to sort out. Not like he minds, that’s kinda part of the allure or whatever. He can’t help wondering what he’s like in bed, if he’s that stoic when the clothes are off, or if it’s like flipping a switch. He lets out an excited little titter, just can’t help it. His imagination’s running away on it’s own, but shit, he doesn’t mind. “So? You’ll give it, yeah?”

The man sighs, exasperated, a sound Jamison’s well-used to hearing from just about everyone else he interacts with on a daily basis. He rubs his (fucking _enormous_ ) fingers over the bridge of his nose. And then he nods. Just a barely perceptible little incline of his head, but it makes Jamison want to whoop in triumph. He just barely manages to reign it in, instead focused on excitedly punching in the numbers as the big guy muttered them.

“Gotta name I can put in? I mean, I can just leave it as 'handsome bloke what broke me nose’, but-”

“Mako.” He gives up the name with such little fuss that Jamison’s kind of surprised. But he’s not complaining, no, he’s fucking ecstatic. Finally, he’s gettin’ somewhere with this guy. He taps the name in to go along with the number, liking how it looks there in his admittedly meager contact list. He musta been smiling like a drongo at the phone screen for a minute before the big fella- _Mako_ clears his throat, and Jamison realizes they’re doing actual introductions, and he’s dropped the ball big time.

“Ah- Jamison Fawkes, at yer service!” He can’t help the little laugh that bubbles up before he’s done speaking, nervous and excited all at once. Not too sure why he’s so nervous now, just saying his name, but it’s there all the same. He doesn’t even include the dumb little nickname everyone calls him, _Rat_ , even though he’s damn fond of it. Kinda feels like maybe the big guy’ll laugh at him over it.

Mako just nods, though. Acknowledges the information received, or something like that. Jamison can’t figure out what’s going on in that head, but damn if he wouldn’t love to crack open that skull and get a good look at that brain. Metaphorically speaking.

“Heading home now,” Mako mutters, finally turning away from Jamison. He can’t blame the guy, Rat knows he’s annoyed the piss outta him tonight. Probably just wants some peace and quiet or whatever. But he’s still wishing Mako would wanna stick around awhile longer.

“Giveya a ring soon, yeah?” Jamison says instead of asking him to stay. Gives him a nice friendly pat on the shoulder before he can get too far away, too. He gets a right mean look for that, but no punches, which is good progress, he figures. Nothing to sneeze at.

“Get your nose fixed,” Mako advises, last thing he says before he shrugs off Rat’s hand and continues on his way up the street. Some kinda goodbye, Jamison figures, good enough for him. He’s pretty tempted to chase after the fella again, act like he’s gotta go the same way just to get more of Mako’s attention, but his flat’s dead opposite the way he’s heading, and maybe he doesn’t want to push his luck too much more.

Jamison turns away too, walks home, only a little unsteady, only bleeding a little bit. He can’t help but giggle almost the whole way back.

Well, shit. Rat’s got to admit, it hasn’t been a _bad_ night. Exciting. Fuckin’ downright thrilling, yeah. Maybe he coulda done without getting his nose smashed…well, no. That was the wildest part, not as good as getting Mako’s number, but second to it. Shit. He’s gonna call the big fucker soon as he can, he’s not gonna sleep on this. He’s getting that enormous bastard in bed if it’s the last thing he does.


	2. Gonna Fire at Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a different perspective. (The first chapter, from a different side)

Mako's not really the kind of guy who goes and sits in bars all on his own as a habit. Once in awhile he'll go out for a pint somewhere quiet. Watch a bit of footie, go home without much fuss. He's having a bit of a time of it tonight, and that's putting it mildly. It was Friday, he wanted a good drink, but he'd gotten kicked out of a bar earlier and it hadn't even been his fault.  
  
He hadn't started that fight. No, some skinny twerp had picked it. Sometimes people thought it was real funny to make fun of the giant fat guy. Usually he made them regret it. That guy had gotten off with a sound cuff to the face, a good black eye to show what a shit he was. Other guys, Mako'd probably really thrash them, but the kid had only had one arm. He went easy on him. Just a warning. He'd probably feel like shit for beating up a cripple if he had really let the guy have it. Probably.  
  
That had been a couple hours ago. Mako went and found another bar to loaf around in. Game was still on, the same beer was on tap. He's deep into his third pint when someone slaps him on the arm.  
  
"Oi! Ya big cunt!" The shriek was nearly in his ear, and Mako couldn't help but flinch. The voice is just familiar enough, high-pitched and annoying. "I wasn't done with ya!"  
  
Ugh. Really, this guy, again? His luck is piss-poor tonight. He'd gone streets over just to avoid any possible bar-hopping annoyances, and here he was, getting hassled by the same fucking shithead kid. He sets his pint down carefully, and turns to face this evening's persistent annoyance.  
  
Yep. Same guy, same wild eyes and ill-kept blonde hair. Same irritating fucking voice. He's opening his mouth again, but Mako's not going to let him keep yammering on. He doesn't want that, the other people in the bar definitely don't want that, kid's got a voice like a cat in heat. So he'll shut him up. As a courtesy.  
  
He swings, and the guy catches his fist with his face. Didn't even flinch away, try to duck, nothing, probably didn't think it was coming. Which just makes him a fuckin' idiot, what did he expect? Shithead already got hit once. Mako hears the crunch of cartilage under his knuckles, and smiles grimly. He doesn't mind hurting people. Really likes when he gets to hurt annoying little fuckers. Always satisfying, in some deep, unspeakable way.  
  
The guy stumbles, eyes wide. Surprised he got hit again, though Mako thinks he should have been ready for it. He already got smacked real good once, and if you're going to keep running your mouth to the same guy who already hit you... Not the brightest guy in the room, Mako's thinking. The kid's knocked onto his ass all the same, gangly limbs all over the place. Well, the three he apparently has, anyway. Blood's already fountaining out of his nose, and it's kind of not a bad look for him. He decides to put that thought aside for now. Examine it later, when he's alone.  
  
"You doin' anything after this?" His voice sounds all fucked up, muffled and choked. Probably too much blood going down his throat. There's plenty spilling down his front and soaking into his shirt, too. Mako likes that. Maybe that'll teach him not to pick a fight. Ain't a bad look for the kid, either, but he's not thinking about that right now.  
  
  
He doubts the twerp is going to try anything else. Usually people are done after they break something. And he's pretty sure there's a bouncer making his way over, so Mako turns to go. Turns back when he finally realizes what the guy said. He's still sprawled there, too, on the floor and leaking blood like a faucet and looking all expectant.   
  
"You kidding me?" It's probably another joke, because Mako knows this kind of guy. The type that likes to needle and mock until their dying breath. And he got enough of this particular type of mocking in high school. He's too old for this shit now. "Piss off."  
  
"No, no no no! 'm serious, what're y' doin later? I mean, after I get patched up 'n all-"  
  
Mako's not listening. He turns around pushes a couple a' bystanders, people who don't want to get involved but want to watch the aftermath, aside. Most people spring out of his way on their own, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his anger. Mako likes that. Likes when he intimidates, when his presence is enough to part crowds. He gets out the door before the bouncer can get to him, and only realizes he forgot to pay his tab when he's halfway down the block. Damn. Guess he's not going back there anytime soon.  
  
He doesn't think he'll be followed, because who the hell would follow the bloke who just laid out a skinny little gimp kid for no real reason? So he doesn't pay attention to the footsteps he can hear, weirdly uneven ones slowly catching up to him.  
  
"Ah--Christ, hold up, willya!?" The voice is screeching, annoying, and by now, horribly familiar. Mako stops. Turns. And--fuck, it's the kid. Of course it is, because that's just how his night is going, isn't it? Nearly knocked the guy out twice, broke his nose for sure, and here he fucking is chasing him down the street. He thought he was an idiot but no, now he's figuring the fucker's got some kind of insane death wish. Or he's just crazy.  
  
He stops. Lets the guy catch up. By now, he's curious. Wants to see what the kid's gonna do when he catches up. Is he gonna try and start a fight? Apologize? Mako's got enough experience to know it's usually one or the other. So he waits, and when the twerp's in front of him again, lets him go on and talk.  
  
The guy catches up, with his weird stride and all. Stops in front of Mako out of breath, bloody and bruised. And then he starts talking, jabbering on, his words punctuated by giggles that seem both hysterical and involuntary. But he gets to say his piece, and his piece is baffling.  
  
"Y' ran out, didn't ya, and here I was tryin' to gitcher number!" The kid says, fighting back a grin that boarders on unhinged. Mako can't say the expression bothers him too much, he's more concerned with what the guy wants from him. His number. His cell number, for some insane reason that Mako can't figure out until he gets another look at the guy's face.  
  
Mako stares, because what else can he do? The kid's not gushing blood anymore, but there's definitely a trickle, and he's looking up at him with this expression. This expression that Mako's not completely sure he can interpret.  
  
It's just--something in his eyes, the way they're all lit up and wild. Something about his grin, the blood between his teeth, the way he's smiling bigger than anyone Mako's ever seen. The fact that he's gotten hit twice, a broken nose and and a bruised face, and he's still coming back for more. Something about all of it, the whole package, is speaking to Mako. He's not sure how, or why, or what language, but he gives in. But he gets it, just the same.  
  
"You're trying to pick me up," he says, managing to be impressed, annoyed and confused all at once. It's not like he never gets guys hitting on him in bars. They just don't ever take the same route as this blonde motherfucker. His incredulity is met with a brief and high-pitched giggle, an earnest nod that just says of course, don't be bloody dense. And, shit, can he really say no?  
  
The guy's annoying as shit, yeah, but he gets what he wants. Maybe because he feels bad, maybe it's because the little asshole looks pretty fucking good covered in blood. But he wants Mako's number and his name, and he gets it. Mako's sure he's going to regret it, but he agrees anyway, and leaves as soon as he can, after awkward introductions and promises that they'll talk soon. He'd prefer if the kid--Fawkes, right? just forgot about everything.  
  
In the coming week, he'll learn that he won't be so lucky. That Fawkes might have a spotty memory normally, but when the events of Friday night are concerned, it's practically fucking photographic. That he's as much of a pest over the phone as he is face to face. But something keeps Mako from telling him to fuck off, from blocking his number and forgetting it ever happened.  
  
He'll blame it on the way Fawkes looked there on the bar floor, more than anything. Laid out by a well-placed fist, his eyes wide, something in them looking for more. Something in him loving the pain. Something that just... resonated with Mako, in some primal and unspeakable way. Something about that lets Mako put up with the annoying shit, makes him wait it out.  
  
Maybe the payoff will be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoilers this is the original first chapter, but I decided I wanted to write from ol' Rattyboy's perspective in the end... but actually this isn't too bad and it'd be a bummer to never post any of this so here u go. Yes there's discrepancies but whatev enjoy.
> 
> rotbody.tumblr.com


End file.
